by LC Champlin
The lead SWAT officer produced a round object from his vest. He shied the ball into the escaping boat’s stern.
The ensuing explosion destroyed the vessel’s rear half. The detonation’s thunderclap resonated in Albin’s chest, causing a palpitation that choked him for an instant. The vessel continued forward from momentum until it ran aground. Fire consumed its aft, moving up to the bow.
The SWAT officers returned to their vehicle as if they had completed a routine traffic stop rather than an execution. The black Dodge pulled away from the harbor, moving back onto Seaport Boulevard.
“Madness,” breathed Albin. When the Law no longer kept the law, when the Watchers no longer watched each other, what did one do? With a shake of his head, he eased to his feet. “Come. Darkness will be upon us soon.” And indeed, it already is upon us.
Chapter 39
Tales from the Crypt
Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine
“I’m no maritime expert, but this is a nice boat.” Bridges patted the leather-upholstered seat in which he reclined. Focusing on the quality of Kenichi-san’s yacht prevented brooding on the slaughter they had witnessed.
“The question as to our destination remains, however,” Albin remarked to the air. The enclosed cockpit held the usual controls, along with a Garmin Fishfinder / GPS and radio. When he powered on the system, it displayed an entry field for coordinates. A message appeared: Hint?
Hovering over Albin’s shoulder, Bridges eyed the message. “I don’t like this.”
“None of us like any of this.”
“Mr. Conrad, Mr. Bridges.” Kuznetsov turned from his place at the transom. “The explosion and gunshots brought company.”
The car park swarmed with cannibals, at least twenty in all. More loped down the drive, while others rose out of boats. How long had they waited there? And why? But pondering the motives of people whose minds belonged to a contagion served little purpose.
“We do not have a choice.” As Albin spoke, he pressed the Hint button. A panel beside the ignition opened. Insert token flashed on the screen above it.
“Token?” Bridges wondered. “Hey, I bet that means—”
“This.” Albin slid the Grim Reaper charm from the key ring. When he dropped the character into the receptacle, the panel slid closed.
The GPS screen displayed another message: Scanning . . . Route calculated. A path appeared over a topographical image of the Bay. Ready to set sail with Long John Silver, leeches? Yes / No?
“Long John Silver from Treasure Island?” asked Kuznetsov, his eyes still on the approaching cannibals.
“Is that a clue or a threat?” Bridges’s lip curled.
“If I had to guess,” the Russian ventured, “it means Treasure Island, under the Oakland Bay Bridge. It was built in the 1930s for the Golden Gate International Expo.”
“And this is an appealing residence for Kenichi-san?” Raising a brow, Albin glanced at him askance.
“It’s sort of a fortress island. The Navy even used it. That’s how it got radioactive contamination—”
“Yeah, we can talk about this later.” Bridges leaned forward and pushed the Yes button. “If you don’t know how to be captain, I can do it. I grew up on the Chesapeake.”
“And I spent my formative years on the English Channel.” Taking the helm, Albin guided the yacht out of its berth.
Meanwhile, Bridges moved to the cabin porthole to squint out at the cannibals. “That poor family. Those murdering bastards gunned them down like sheep. If they want to kill something, why don’t they kill the cannibals?”
If left to ruminate, Bridges would return to the state in which he had fallen during his time at the airport, after the massacre at the cloverleaf. “Bridges, what does the name of the yacht mean?”
“What?”
“The yacht is called the Izanami-no-Mikoto. Does it involve the Faithful Dark game and the Japanese underworld?”
“Oh.” His countenance brightened and his posture straightened. “Yes, her name means one who invites. Izanami was the wife of Izanagi-no-Mikoto. They were like Adam and Eve, but they were gods. The main god gave them a spear, and when they stirred the sea with it, the water droplets became Japan. They were also responsible for spawning eight gods and two demons. Not surprisingly, Izanami died in childbirth. When she passed, her husband went to the underworld to find her.”
“As in the story of Persephone and Hecate in Hades?” Albin asked as he turned the craft’s heading to follow the map’s route.
“Exactly. When Izanagi found her, he couldn’t see her because of the shadows. Anyway, he wanted her to go back with him, but she had eaten the food of the underworld—just like Persephone—and couldn’t leave. So when she fell asleep, he tried to spirit her away. But when he set her hair on fire—”
“He set her hair on fire?” Kuznetsov broke in.
“I’m just telling you the story. It turns out that her body was rotten and full of maggots. Well, obviously he didn’t want her then.”
“Love is fickle.” Albin smirked as he eased the throttle forward.
“She chased him out of the underworld and killed some villagers. She said she would kill a thousand people a day, but Izanagi said he would give life to fifteen hundred a day. She’s now a god of death and creation.” He finished with a dramatic shrug.
Albin kept the yacht on the GPS’s course. Other small craft, military and cargo ships, and a few ocean liners floated at their berths to the west. The route carried the Izanami-no-Mikoto close to the Oakland coast. Fortunately, the breeze caused only a slight chop in the water, making two- to three-foot seas. Visibility remained tolerable.
“She spawned demons?” Albin asked after a moment. That fell in line with Kenichi-san’s tastes.
“Hiruko and Awashima. They mean leech child and faint island. She sent them off in a boat of reeds. Hiruko became the god of luck and fishing.”
“We could do with some luck,” the Russian responded, watching Silicon Valley recede.
Chapter 40
Why So Serious?
Holy Grail - Dead Posey
The sun sank toward the horizon as Nathan watched the cannibals inside the self-storage facility’s fence. He ran his thumb along the edge of his goatee in thought.
In the enclosure, ropes bound the feet of a Dalit. A toddler could figure out how to untie the knot, but could the cannibal? At the moment, the monster attempted to crawl toward him.
“They don’t eat fish,” Stacy continued listing her findings. “But they do drink small amounts of water.”
The researchers had made remarkable progress in their study. Soon they would turn in their reports on the experiments’—his and theirs—results.
“We tried other animals as well. We kept them in cages so they would be safe, of course. The cannibal was interested at first, but as soon as it realized they weren’t human, it ignored them. That points to them being selective.”
“And what of the contagion’s ability to infect other species?”
“Well, we tried putting the black oil, which we’ve termed venom, into water with fish. Nothing happened.”
His gaze snapped down to her. “Did you try it on any of the strays?” Testing it on animals felt improper, akin to smearing children with the black slime.
“Of course not! We did trap a rat, though.” Sheepish, she shrugged in apology. “We set the venom in a bowl, but the rat wouldn’t go near it.”
“Then did you apply the venom?”
“Well, yes.” She looked uncomfortable. “But”—brightening—“nothing happened.”
“The incubation time in animals may be longer than for humans.”
“We’re keeping them under observation.”
“What of their behavior toward humans?”
“Some seemed to prefer infecting subjects rather than killing them. We’re not sure if that’s related to their hunger level, if they have such, or if the
contagion affects each subject differently.”
“Perhaps it acts on each subject’s inherent aggression level.” He shrugged.
“Maybe. We did discover something fascinating about how they find their targets, though.”
Excitement putting a spring in her step, she waved for him to follow her to a wall of plywood that stood near the fence. Foil covered the right half of the wall, but the left remained bare boards. Six feet high and eight feet across, it would only conceal Nathan if he stooped. Stacy had no such problem.
“Did you develop a case of electromagnetic hypersensitivity?” He smirked.
“Watch this,” she breathed as she pulled a space blanket from a toolbox at the wall’s base.
Nathan raised a brow as she wrapped herself in the silver plastic. “Is there a tinfoil hat to complete the look?”
“No,” she laughed. “Attract a cannibal to this side, then back up and watch.”
With a shrug, he acquiesced. “Hey, ugly!” Handclapping and arm waving caught the attention of a cannibal who milled in the rear of the enclosure. The Dalit stalked forward a few yards. Then it broke into a lope.
Nathan retreated forty yards. The cannibal halted at the fence, directly in front of Stacy’s wall.
Ssssssaaaaahhhhh.
It remained oblivious to Stacy’s presence on the opposite side of the plywood. With no prey available, the Dalit wandered off.
“What does that prove?” Nathan asked when he arrived at the researcher’s blind. “We already knew they couldn’t see through wood.” Knuckle-rap in the wall.
She shot him a sly smile. “That’s the first half. Bring the cannibal over again, but this time, I’m going to lose the alien-proofing.”
After removing the space blanket, she stepped behind the bare portion of the boards. Nathan repeated the cannibal call.
When the Dalit arrived at the wall, its head snapped toward the unshielded half. Hissing, it shoved its arm though the chain-link’s diamonds, reaching toward Stacy’s location.
The scientist looked over her shoulder and signaled for Nathan to watch. A sidestep put her behind the foil again.
On the other side of the wall, the cannibal paused in its struggles. Weaving its head from side to side as if dodging punches, it retreated a pace.
Ssssssaaaaahhh!
With a shake of its head and shoulders, it ambled off.
Did this mean—“It sensed you behind the board?” Splinting his ribs, Nathan trotted up to Stacy. “How? Thermal, like a viper? Electromagnetic, like a—” A what?
“A platypus. And that’s exactly how we believe it senses us through the boards.”
Documentaries on Australian mammals came to mind. “That’s right! Their beaks can detect the electromagnetic impulses of insects.” Thank God for Nat Geo.
“Precisely!” She grinned. “It’s called electroreception.”
“Are the space blankets enough?” If they could devise an invisibility cloak—
“Unfortunately, no. They can also see and hear you, remember. The discovery’s main value comes from making us more cautious. Since they can sense our nerve impulses, we can’t rely on just being still and silent to avoid their notice.”
“Applied knowledge is power.” A shame they couldn’t apply it more usefully.
“We think the ability is from the neural nets—the same way the radio broadcast was supposed to have affected them.”
“I see.” He folded his arms as he regarded the cannibals. “What about the dissection?”
“Come see.” She waved him toward a bank of storage units. One held a makeshift table formed of plywood covered in plastic tarp. It sat on sawhorses, at an incline so the blood and fluids ran down a gutter of boards, draining into a five gallon bucket.
The body of the cannibal Nathan had dispatched lay on the board, the skin of its chest reflected in a Y incision. Its sternum with the front section of its rib cage lay to one side. Nathan’s own ribs ached at the sight.
Nancy presided over the operation, but a sturdily built man in rain slicker, gloves, and face shield conducted the procedure. He gave the newcomers a curt nod before returning to his work: exploring the depths of the cannibal’s abdomen.
The stench of intestinal contents and decay seized Nathan’s gag reflex. Swallowing several times and breathing through his mouth, he turned his watering gaze from the body. “I’m sure you can tell me the specifics in a report. It appears he’s not finished yet anyway.”
“Sure. It would be better if we could study these at the building, but I know beggars can’t be choosers. When do you think we can—”
“I’m assembling a team.” He set off toward the gate of the storage facility. “We’ll secure it and begin work this evening. It should be ready by tomorrow. The people we met there will be helpful in guarding it.”
“It’s exciting, you know?” She practically radiated enthusiasm.
“It certainly is.” If she could only understand the full weight of the possibilities that lay ahead . . .
They returned to the bound cannibal. Another Dalit crouched beside it, staring at the ropes. Low hissing emanated from the pair. The free cannibal began fumbling at the knot.
“They’re evolving.” A sigh escaped Nathan before he could bite it back. “When this began, they could barely walk. Now they can perform with agility and incredible teamwork.”
“I just hope they don’t learn to use tools,” Stacy murmured, half to herself.
Nathan’s heart choked on a beat. Tools. A superstitious part of his mind rebelled at the thought, for thinking about it or mentioning it might turn the nightmare into reality. Another portion of his brain pushed the idea away in defense of sanity. “We’ll cross the Night of the Living Dead bridge if and when we come to it.” Even though the bridge might have burst in flames at that point.
The ropes fell away from the cannibal’s feet. It shifted to all fours, where it began heaving like a dog ready to vomit.
Stepping back, Nathan motioned for Stacy to stand back.
Rather than aiming the vomit at them, the monster regurgitated a mass of black slime on the ground in front of it. Then it dropped one shoulder and began to rub its back and torso in the contagion in the manner of a dog rolling in road kill.
After watching its companion for a moment, the second cannibal too began to wipe venom over itself.
Nausea and acid rose. “It’s making itself venomous on the outside, like a poison-dart frog. Does this count as using tools?”
Chapter 41
Riddle Me This
Unstoppable - Es Posthumus
“There it is.” Kuznetsov pointed ahead to a small island that jutted from the Oakland Bay Bridge’s center column.
Raising his hand against the late-afternoon sun, Bridges squinted at the spit of land. “It’s probably overrun with people now, since they want to get away from what’s going on in the city.”
Contrary to that speculation, they found the Treasure Isle Marina at half capacity. Albin pulled into one of the slips, edging the craft up to the dock. “Evidently people are averse to the idea of being trapped on an island during a catastrophe. There is limited food and water, and the only way off other than by watercraft is by the bridge, which will be impassable due to traffic. If they own a watercraft, they are likely going farther afield.” Where remained a mystery.
Bridges hopped out with Judge to secure the lines.
“Now where?” Kuznetsov enquired.
As if in answer to his question, a message blinked on the GPS: Destination reached. Enjoy the view of the gate from the berth of the sun, and the Rock from the Fortress.
“Damn it,” Bridges spat. When had he boarded the vessel? “This is like those stupid riddles in Faithful Dark. They were fun in the game, but this is getting tedious.”
Albin turned to the Kuznetsov. “Any ideas?”
“I didn’t even know he owned anything out here.”
; “We know he or the next clue to his location is on this island.” At the word next, Bridges growled. Albin pressed on, “The message is on the GPS, which would indicate this is a geographic riddle.” He enlarged the image of the island. “‘View of the gate’ matches . . .”
“There, Gateview.” Kuznetsov’s finger hovered over an avenue that ran along the western shore of the island.
“‘From the berth of the sun.’ But it is spelt like the berth of a ship.”
“The berth that this ship—I mean, this yacht—was in was thirteen. There’s a 13th Street.” The engineer pointed it out: it branched off Gateview, proceeding toward the government buildings at the center of the island. “The sun rises in the east, so if we have our backs to it we should see—”
“‘The Rock from the Fortress.’ The Rock—”
“Alcatraz,” Bridges finished Albin’s thought. “There’s a perfect view of it from here. It’s barely two miles away, according to the map. But what’s he mean about the castle—er, the Fortress?”
Kuznetsov leaned closer. “The other streets in that area are West Side Drive, Avenue B, Mason Court, and Lester Court.”
“Lester.” Albin stroked his chin in thought. “It sounds like Leicester, which means walled or fortified.”
The three exchanged looks.
“What are we waiting for? Come on!” Bridges jumped back onto the dock, with Judge barking at his heels.
The trio made their way to Gateview Avenue, past row upon row of gray, featureless two-story apartments.
Looking about in disdain, Bridges remarked, “This doesn’t seem like a place Ken would live.”
“This is Lester,” Kuznetsov announced, stopping at the intersection. The street branched left, to the west. At its end rose a two-story building much like its neighbors. However, its gray resembled that of wet ash rather than the smog shade of the others. The windows bore mirrored tint, which reflected the front garden’s gravel. Its coloring blended with the sea beyond it.
